Tag Archives: family

Throughout my life I have confided that I never had a traditional kid-centered birthday party when I was a child. My birthday was always acknowledged, usually with a dinner and cake at Grandma’s but it was always just family.

Now that I’m at the stage of life where most women are happy to forget about birthdays altogether, my birthday activities have mushroomed. This year, I’ve been celebrating for nearly two weeks and I’m still not done!

The celebrations actually began a few days before my birthday. Over the years, I seem to have collected many friends whose birthdays are near mine. May 13 is the date for four of my friends. One is in Italy, one was too busy that week, one is out of touch, but the fourth and I had a lovely lunch that day.

A new friend treated me to lunch the day before my birthday. She blew me away with her thoughtful gifts and the efforts she took to present them perfectly.

With my big day falling on a long weekend, the May 17 Club decided to celebrate after the weekend. (Yes, there is a club, a group of people I’ve met over the years who share my birthday. See below.) As we all have busy lives, we’re not meeting until Tuesday, a full ten days past our day. But we don’t care. We are happy to catch up with each other once a year.

My birthday began with piles of Facebook and email wishes. Say what you will about the intrusion of internet in our lives but when it’s my birthday and 50 people take the time to send a greeting, it makes me feel pretty special! Those greetings poured in all day and spilled over into the rest of the weekend!

A friend sang “Happy Birthday” on my voicemail and she tracked me down and wished me a happy day. Very good effort!

For the first time in probably 20 years, I celebrated my birthday with my parents, the people responsible for my existence on this planet. My mom cooked a turkey dinner, one of my favourite meals. My sister joined us and brought me a bouquet of flowers. I don’t know that I’ve ever gotten flowers from her.

My daughters and granddaughters took me out for sushi in the evening. One of my favourite activities is to watch my grandtoys eat sushi. Most kids won’t go near it. With my little ones, you have to be rather aggressive with your chopsticks or you might not get any sushi for yourself!

Lunches continued to be lavished upon me all week. I even bought a couple as I celebrated with friends with birthdays after mine. I discovered that another friend’s birthday is the day before mine: we resolved to celebrate together next year.

A close friend surprised me with a handmade, heartfelt gift recognizing my recent accomplishments. I even received a number of old-fashioned, mailed cards, most of which made me laugh. (I’m glad people think of funny when they buy me a card!)

Ideally, I would simply take off two weeks to fit in all the celebrations. But the real world requires that I accomplish tasks despite the parties. Alas! I have neglected thanking everyone for their greetings. Until now, it has seemed premature.

So today, I reflect on the many blessings I have received these past two weeks. I am rich with contacts that take their valuable time to acknowledge me. I have close friends and family eager to spend time with me.

The timing of all this is perfect. Now is the best stage of my life to collect birthday memories. Children inevitably forget the parties, lose touch with friends, and it all ends up a blur.

As an adult, I am aware of the importance of these “touch points”. I am wise enough to ponder them in my heart, revere them, and hold them as precious. Thankfully, my mind is still clear enough to remember them for some time.

Have you ever seen a young child with a mountain of birthday presents? Opening them becomes a chore. Wrapping paper falls away, revealing a carefully chosen gift, only to be glanced at and discarded on the pile to make room for the next present.

As an adult, I open each “gift” with care, examining the wrapping and appreciating the art that went into it. I focus on the spirit of the giver. I hold the gift in my heart and carry it with me forever.

How can I regret birthdays past when birthday present is so rewarding?

Though I may have been short-changed on parties as a child, I’m more than making up for it now.

Isn’t life wonderful?

May 17 Birthday Club (originally published May 17, 2009)

This week the May 17 Birthday Club conducted its 20th annual meeting. It was festive as usual as we all got to soak up an hour or so hanging out with four other people who share little but having been born on the same day.

I first became aware of the club ten years ago when I hired a new assistant. I was telling my colleague, Paul how amazing it was that the new hire had the same birthday as I do. I rambled on about how I had never met anyone who shared my birthday.

Paul asked me when my birthday is and when I told him May 17, he said, “Mine too”. I called “BS” and demanded he produce his driver’s license. Sure enough; it is May 17.

He then proceeded to tell me that he and two other guys he had met through business get together for lunch on or near their birthday each year. He immediately invited my new assistant and me to come to the next lunch and we have never looked back.

The first time we talked at length about our similarities and differences and wondered aloud whether there was any truth to our horoscope. We discussed the various celebrities that share our day, among them Bob Saget and Dennis Hopper. As the years passed we learned about each other’s passions and families.

Some years we met in November too for our half birthday just to catch up with each other. Last year our spouses joined us for dinner to honour the 65th of one member and the 50th of another.

We have representation from four decades and we always discuss our ages and how time marches on. (For years one member has stated his age as X “US” (generally giving him at least a 20% advantage!)) This year I told the group that I’m 17 for the third time!

We’ve witnessed many life changes. One year a member lost his mother just before our meeting. The following year he lost his father. I remember him calling himself an orphan that year. The next year we celebrated the birth of his first grandchild.

There have been graduations from Kindergarten , high school, and university. We have witnessed career changes, once-in-a-lifetime vacations and acquisitions of businesses and property. We have had births, deaths and weddings to discuss. Next year a new baby will be coming to the lunch.

This week we marveled at how our lives have evolved, all the fun we’ve had meeting with each other, and how quickly the years have passed.

Happy Birthday to my fellow May 17ers. You have greatly enriched my life. I am privileged to have lunched with you all these years. I feel like I have found a family. I sure hope we’re still meeting in 20 years.

And if your birthday is also May 17, you are automatically a member. Drop me a line and we will gladly include you in the festivities next year. It’s bunches of fun, but that’s just One Woman’s Opinion.

Last week I killed my old email address, after 16 years of faithful service.

It was diseased with SPAM. No email filters, no rules, nothing could stem the tide of unsolicited messages interrupting my days, every five minutes.

On my home computer it wasn’t so problematic. Besides the 100 or so messages I screened out each day, the junk mail folder would silently fill to three hundred in a couple days. I might glance through it to ensure a real message hadn’t been misidentified or I might simply “select all” and delete.

But when I travelled email was a royal pain. The same junk mail filters don’t apply to webmail. I had to physically remove each and every message. A click or two is no big deal until multiplied by 300!

The really tricky part is if you have to pay for every bit of data. When I have no access to internet I use my iPhone as a hotspot. It’s wonderful technology but make no mistake: I pay!

(Telecommunication companies have us in their death grip. We rely on our devices for business and pleasure. Our provider choices are limited and they seem to be in cahoots, offering little that’s different from each other. But that rant will wait for another day).

I was compelled to take action on my email situation. My email address had to die.

It was a perfect time to better organize my email life. I subscribe to many online newsletters, groups and services, mostly nice to know but not crucial. I decided to send the non-urgent to my new g-mail address, accessible from anywhere, but not in my face on my computer.

My main email is for my friends, family and acquaintances and my favourite newsletters. Anyone can always contact me through my websites so any worry about losing touch has dissipated.

But here’s something weird: I somehow miss all that spam. Not that I ever read or responded to any of it, but the recurring appearance of red numbers indicating the messages waiting in my inbox was part of my daily routine. I was always on a mission to get my inbox free of the unnecessary, which, now that I reflect on it, likely contributed to my tendency to procrastinate: a distraction, a diversion, a non-task to take focus from my real tasks.

It just occurred to me: I’m no more advanced than Pavlov’s dog, responding to the bell of my inbox!

As stupid as it sounds, now that SPAM is gone, I have a sense of loss. Is it that I’m suddenly not nearly as popular as I thought I was? Or maybe it’s because clearing my inbox was woven into the fabric of my life. The human brain is astounding. We often miss the terrible, even the annoying. I suppose that explains how victims of abuse can be so conflicted about their aggressors (love/hate) and actually miss them when they’re apart. Stockholm Syndrome is another example.

Now what to do with all that found time?

That’s no problem. I constantly bemoan my limited time, no doubt, inextricably linked to my overly ambitious to-do list. I have a new project overview pasted to my office wall which I expect will help me focus on necessary tasks. I think of it as a junk filter for my tasks list.

I have one less excuse for not working towards completing my projects.

I am blessed to have had three mothers. My first mother, of course, gave birth to me. My grandmother assisted in my rearing; I consider her my second mom.

Then there is my ‘finishing” mom.

I call her that because she finished the job of raising me. You see, I was 17 when I married her son and like most 17-year-olds, I thought I was pretty smart. In reality, I knew nothing.

Through her open heart, smiling face, undying service and unconditional love, she gave me many tools that have shaped my life.

We bury her today. This is my tribute to Mildred Olsen.

My grandma met Mildred through work. They became fast friends. Grandma started attending the church down the street and found the Olsens attended there.

That’s where I first met my third mom. I remember her incessant smile. I also remember sitting behind her and seeing her rearrange the sausage curl at the end of her hair.

I was 14 and had an immediate crush on her son. Three years later I became her daughter-in-law and she became my mother-in-law, a title she hated because of the negativity surrounding mothers-in-law and the ensuing jokes. She worked hard to dispel the stereotype and she achieved that.

Photo owned by www.shelleygoldbeck.com

She always treated me as though I were one of her children. My Christmas and birthday gifts were as generous my sisters-in-law’s gifts. She both praised and scolded me (gently) as if she were my own parent. I never resented it. In fact, I loved the feeling of family she instilled in me.

I imagine she was taken aback by my ignorance of keeping a home. As the oldest in my family, I was expected to labour outside on the farm. The extent of my kitchen skills were peeling potatoes, setting the table and washing dishes.

She taught me how to cook. Not so much taught, but allowed me to observe and ask questions. I often helped her do her Christmas baking. I learned how important food presentation is. The tomatoes weren’t simply sliced, but neatly arranged on the plate. I still serve tomatoes this way.

Her apple pie was legendary. In fact, Pastor DeMaere told me she made the best apple pie he ever ate and he had been served thousands of slices of apple pie over the years. A roast beef dinner evokes sweet memories of her Sunday dinners.

Not only did I learn how to cook in her kitchen I learned hospitality. Mildred loved nothing more than having company. Out would come the coffee and squares or cakes. Her reward for serving her guests was their company. That suited me well. I am thankful I learned hostess etiquette at her side.

In her kitchen I also learned how to clean. Her kitchen gleamed. Everything was wiped down daily and because of that regularity it was easy to keep it up. I will never claim to be as meticulous as she was but I learned how nice it feels to work in a clean kitchen.

Her message was consistent: whatever you do, do it to the best of your ability. Go the extra mile. Make it look beautiful just because.

I used to marvel at her energy. She was the first one up and the last to bed, always working, always doing, usually for others.

When my babies came, she taught me how to care for them. She was their second mom and I always felt comfortable leaving my children in her care. I knew she loved them at least as much as I did. I am forever grateful that my children got to have all those comfortable memories of time spent at Grandma’s.

Photo owned by www.shelleygoldbeck.com

She was our moral barometer. When the girls were teens and trying out racy language, they would claim it wasn’t so bad. “Would you say it front of Grandma?” They would hang their heads, “No.” Settled. If we were ashamed to do it in front of Grandma it was likely shameful.

She and I used to talk for hours on the phone or play games Sunday afternoons when the men were napping off their big meal. Those conversations shaped my thinking. Mildred also influenced me by sharing her self-help library. To this day my reading includes self-help books, which most people find boring.

Mildred had class, quiet dignity. She genuinely cared about people. She was happy in her roles of wife, mother, grandmother and homemaker.

Luckily, I see Mildred in my girls. R____ has her darker skin and hair and voluptuous figure. She reveals her pain through her eyes, just like her grandma. She is also meticulous in everything she does. H____ shares her openness, loving spirit and her innate sense of morality. She thrives on company too. My girls both appreciate having known this wonderful woman and they acknowledge her profound influence in their lives.

As I compile this, the memories of her love flood my mind and it’s hard to choose which should be included. The most indelible one is this:

My grandma and Mildred were neighbours and friends for decades and forever connected through their descendents. In the last years they were in the same seniors lodge for a time.

My grandma began to deteriorate. At one point she was unable to walk to the dining room for lunch. The lodge wasn’t exactly accommodating.

One day my sister arrived at the lodge in time to see this: Grandma was perched on the seat of Mildred’s walker. Mildred, bad heart and bad hip notwithstanding, was pushing Grandma slowly towards the dining room.

This image of my finishing mom supporting my second mom, regardless of the hardship it might cause her, is the statement of how Mildred lived her life. It is how I will forever remember her.

In service to others in her own quiet way. With a smile and great love.

“There is no greater love than to give one’s life for a friend.”

Thank you, Mildred, for finishing me, for being my grandma’s longest friend and for helping me raise my daughters. I could not have walked this way without you.

It’s hard to imagine her being 50. I wonder how my parents feel: their baby is 50!

What to get a 50-year-old woman who has a very happy life? She wants for nothing. She has family, friends, a nice home.

A party is out of the question. She hates being the centre of attention. She once threatened my life if I even thought of a surprise party like the one we threw for her husband’s 50th birthday.

Finally inspiration. A Letter to the Living. A few years ago I wrote about the importance of telling people how you feel about them before their eulogy. I call them, “Letters to the Living.”

And I have never sent one to my sister. So here goes.

Dear April:

I remember the day you came to this planet. Mom announced to Dad that the baby was coming and our brother and I were shipped off to Grandma’s. I remember staying home with Dad a few days too. He fed us and cared for us but he didn’t wash one dish. I remember Mom facing a pile of dirty dishes when she got home with you.

Dad’s parents were immediately taken aback by your name, as no Germans are named April. Named after a month! How absurd! All discussions ceased when Mom reminded them of Great-Uncle August. I happen to think April is a pretty name.

You changed our family. Our parents were finally old enough to be parents and they showered you with love, as much as they were able. In fact, Grandpa exclaimed that at last he saw “Mutterliebe”, mother love in our mother when she brought you home.

Brother and I loved kissing your soft baby arms, cooing, “Chicken wings, chicken wings!” You would giggle and then pinch us so hard we would cry.

In typical sibling fashion your presence was barely tolerated at times. Other times, I was fiercely protective of you. I remember a friend of mine excluding you when I was eight and you were two. I insisted on your inclusion. She had no siblings. I concluded she didn’t understand love for a little sister.

Brother and I quickly figured out Mom and Dad had a soft spot for you. You became our ambassador, our negotiator. If we could convince you to ask them on our behalf, we reasoned, odds were in our favour of scoring.

Alas, you soon learned of the power you held and you often wielded it for your own good and against us. You adeptly extracted favours for your petitions to parents or you out and out refused us. I suspect you savoured your power over us.

You were ten when I left home. I have often regretted being wrapped up in my own life and not being a mentor or even a good big sister to you, especially as a teenager. Somehow you grew up and became someone that I have long considered a lifelong friend.

Sisters we may be but we are different in so many ways. I have always known that you were the most intelligent of our parents’ children, though I wouldn’t admit it when I was young. Of course I let on that I was the smartest, but deep down, I knew.

As an adult, I enjoy the intelligent conversations we have. I relish sharing books with you, knowing you have the capacity to understand them as I do. It’s not easy to find intellectual equals, but I have my sister.

There were times I was jealous of your relationship with Mom and Dad. Thankfully, I grew to value it. You did much to teach them how to love their children and to teach all of us how to have good relationships with our parents and children.

I remember a time when I doubted you would ever be a mother or much of one. How wrong was I?

One of my proudest thoughts has been of you tenderly rearing your children to be the fine citizens they are. I often boast about the accomplishments of my niece and nephew; we all know their mother was integral to their success. Thank you for having a son, whom I think of as a son. He holds a special place in our family of girls.

I am grateful for your thoughtfulness to my daughters and for being an example and mentor for them. They regard you highly, and they recognize the impact you’ve had on their life choices.

I admire how you handled being a stepmother and a grandmother at a really young age. I witnessed that you were always fair and loving towards your stepdaughters. I see you continuing to support them as they raise their families, exploding that whole evil stepmother myth. Well done!

I have you to thank for getting my business books in order. My detail-orientation gene is not as strong as yours. When you did our books I enjoyed the regular interaction it forced. I miss that.

Your devotion to Grandma in her last years left an indelible mark on my heart. I couldn’t be there but I was comforted that you were and you would defend her to the death. And you did. Thank you for carrying that burden for our family. You did us all a great service.

I can’t think of many others I would enlist to plan a special event or navigate through government bureaucracy. I’m glad you’re the younger sister. You are better equipped to organize my geriatric care than I am yours!

I admire your ability to keep house so much better than I can. I simply didn’t inherit Grandmother’s neat freak tendencies and my priorities are different. But I sure do enjoy walking into your beautiful, neat, clean and orderly home.

Your ability to rise above life’s hurdles and mud holes is inspiring. It’s not easy to crawl from the depths and fashion a brand new life but you did it. You held up your head. You did the hard work. And you emerged a wonderful woman, wife, mother, sister, daughter, and friend.

I honour the day you were born, 50 years ago today. I am thankful for the day I was given a sister. I am proud to call you my friend.

A recent vacation enabled me to exceed my January reading goal of 22 books, to get me to 600 books in seven years and one month.

It was an ambitious goal spawned by one of my long-term goals, to read 1000 books in ten years. I realized I would be wise to plan for “reading spurts” in the next three years whenever I have a block of time that I can devote to reading. (I can’t help but wonder if I’m crazy: 400 books in three years!)

Vacations are good for reading spurts because airports require early arrival and flights themselves are rather boring apart from takeoff and landing. I often have completed my first vacation book before I get off the plane. I used to dread the whole flying process. Now I look forward to it.

Just because I’m on vacation doesn’t mean I can sleep in. I often have hours of reading before my hubby rises. To him, sleeping in is the definition of vacation.

And just because we’re on vacation doesn’t mean he’ll watch less television. With him engaged by the tube, I often have several hours of reading at the end of the day too.

People ask me about the best books I’ve read. At 600 it’s a good time to reflect and share some of the great moments.

I’ve read several series. My all-time favourite is the Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon. I enjoyed Jean M Auel’s Clan of the Cave Bear series, which I knew about long before I read. Harry Potter, Twilight and Hunger Games were other series I read, just so I could stay culturally current with the children and young adults in my life.

Yan Martel’s Life of Pi and Garth Stein’s The Art of Racing in the Rain are two of my favourite novels. I also enjoy reading anything by Mitch Albom. Steig Larsson’s Girl with the Dragon Tattoo series grabbed my interest.

I read a lot of business books. I like Tom Peter’s and Malcolm Gladwell’s books as well as Roy H Williams’, Wizard of Ads books. Last year I read many books on professional speaking and found Paid to Speak by various NSA members very valuable.

My favourite self-help books are by Neale Donald Walsch, his Conversations with God series. The first book was life-changing for me and my daughter, coming to us months before a year of nine funerals among our family and friends.

My Book Club keeps me reading all the latest and greatest and I’ve read many of the classics in the last seven years. I was surprised by how much I enjoyed the Tarzan of the Apes series by Edgar Rice Burroughs. It was also interesting to read a number of Ian Fleming’s James Bond books.

I have posted my reading list for each year on this site. I am always glad to talk about books. Contact me if you want to start a conversation about your favourite author or book. Happy reading.

My tips for reading more:

1) Make reading a priority and seek ways to incorporate reading into your day.

2) Carry a book in your purse or car or electronically on your favourite device. Read whenever you have to wait.

My inbox delivered a delightful surprise this afternoon, a pre-sale announcement for OdysseO by Cavalia. When I saw Cavalia back in 2011, I was so inspired that I wrote this piece to describe it.

If Odysseo is anything like the first show, you MUST go! Enjoy!

Cavalia Captivates Calgary

The first image we see is the birth of a foal and its subsequent struggle to stand on its own four feet. He thrashes and tumbles repeatedly. By the time he triumphs, proudly balancing precariously on his stilt-like limbs, the audience is so invested in his quest they cheer him with a fervor that belies their allegiance to The Horse.

I assume the name Cavalia comes from cavalier, a horseman, especially a mounted soldier or knight; also related to cavalry, meaning mounted military. The cavalry and, for that matter, the horse, have contributed indelibly to our North American history, especially in Western Canada.

Both my grandfathers cleared and farmed land, using horse-power (a term used still in the automobile industry). My parents both rode horses to school, as did both my grandmothers. I also grew up with horses, (see previous post, Ode to Horses) but I never got to ride mine to school, one of my childhood dreams.

It was on horseback that most of western Canada was explored and “conquered”. Calgary’s most famous annual event is horse-centric: the Calgary Stampede and its various related activities like the Calgary Stampede Parade. Over a thousand horses prance in the parade, not to mention all the bucking horses, cutting horses, and chuckwagon horses doing their part to produce “The Greatest Outdoor Show on Earth”.

So I’m not surprised that local media has reported that Calgarians, indeed, Albertans, are stampeding their way to Cavalia to be captivated by this magnificent animal.

Cavalia was created and directed by Normand Latourelle, one of the original founders of Cirque du Soleil. Past Cirque exposure had us all expecting a high-quality, jaw-dropping, awe-inspiring performance and I was not disappointed.

The history of the horse is communicated without words in this two-hour equine celebration, from the horse’s original domestication to its more recent involvement in trick-riding shows. Live music, dance, acrobatics, realistic backdrops and optical illusions weave together with the essence of the horse.

The animals are often “on stage” without halters, bridles and other means of control, yet they “perform” miraculous tasks.

My favourite segment was Liberty (name of which I was advised by my horse-loving niece, whose birthday ten members of our family celebrated by attending Cavalia).

In Liberty, a woman stands in the middle of the ring and somehow cajoles seven unfettered grey/white steeds into moving in magnificent patterns for the pleasure of the audience.

With a slight “sleight of hand” she lines them up with their rumps to the audience and their heads turn back as if to taunt us. One naughty horse takes shortcuts a few times, which only delights the audience, as opposed to marring the perfect performance.

In typical Cirque fashion, there is something going on in various areas of the “stage” at any given moment. I am entranced by a particularly intricate dressage “dance” by six white stallions, when suddenly they become eight. I totally missed the entrance of the two.

The show is infused with humour and poignant moments; and music, from thundering-hooves-music to pensive cello solos and haunting vocals. Vivid costumes and graphics enhance the overall experience.

The star of the show is the horse, depicted in many of its incarnations. One can’t help but leave with a sense of awe in the power and raw beauty of this creation and totally believing the Arabian proverb: The horse is God’s gift to mankind.

My sister and I treated our mother, two aunts, and some of our children and grandchildren to the show, which rendered my otherwise talkative family speechless. I’ve heard, “indescribable” and “dumbfounded”.

The tickets are quite dear, (and the souvenirs will lead you to the brink of bankruptcy) but the production meets and exceeds one’s expectations. We looked at this event as a once-in-a-lifetime (okay, Twice!) opportunity to connect with a creature that has profoundly touched us as individuals, as a family, and as a society.

Our Thanksgiving after dinner activities included an exercise in gratitude where we wrote why we are grateful for the members of our family on small pictures our granddaughters had painted.

My youngest granddaughter, J_____ generally sees the world from a different perspective than most of us. Perhaps it’s her red hair. Or maybe it’s her free spirit.

She wrote: I am great full for Grandma because…

Photo owned by www.shelleygoldbeck.com

Great full.

That gave me pause.

Because if you think about it, being grateful actually does make us “great full”.

We feel good inside. Others feel good. The step from good to great is not a huge leap.

Giving thanks is that: an act of giving. Giving is good. In fact science has proven repeatedly that any act of kindness performed improves the health of the giver, the receiver, and incredibly, even the health of those who witness the act of kindness.

By being grateful to others we build bridges, give hope and encouragement, and sow the seeds of more good deeds coming our way. People are less apt to help next time if they don’t receive thanks.

Sadly, “thanks” is not common in the modern lexicon. Strangely, some people believe “thanks” takes away their power, positions them lower than others.

Photo owned by www.shelleygoldbeck.com

If only they understood that by giving thanks they GET power.

I truly think that’s what J_____ meant by great full.

Today, I am great full to J_____ for opening my mind to the great state of great-fullness.